Chapter Eight
Jude watched Ginny tear away—slamming through the heavy door to the stairwell rather than waiting for the elevator—and forced himself not to follow. He may not have the first fucking clue how to fix this, but he could honor her wishes. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him right now—and he couldn’t blame her.
“Shit.”
He turned back toward the suite—and found the publicist staring at him with wide eyes. Evidently she’d seen the whole damn show. He could only hope she hadn’t been recording it with her ubiquitous mobile.
“I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly—and he wasn’t sure whether she was apologizing for witnessing the fight or for orchestrating the whole damn thing.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asked, hearing the cynicism in his voice. “A good story?”
She blanched. “I didn’t…”
“You knew I was her nephew, didn’t you? And that I posted the tape. You knew the whole thing when you asked for me to do this story. Is this what you were hoping for? That I’d bring in Agatha and you’d catch the whole thing on camera? Is this a juicy enough story for you?”
“That wasn’t…”
“Jude.” The firm, disapproving voice was one he remembered well from his childhood. Agatha appeared through the doorway of the suite. “Stop giving Ruth a hard time because you’re angry at yourself.”
He snapped his mouth closed, feeling like the lowest sort of worm. “I’m sorry,” he said to Ruth, hoping he didn’t sound as grudging as he felt.
“I really didn’t mean for things to happen like this,” Ruth insisted.
“I know. It wasn’t your fault.” It was his. He was the one who’d posted the tape in the first place. He could tell himself that if he hadn’t posted it someone else would have—and that was true—but he was still the one who’d done it. And then he’d lied.
If he hadn’t let her believe he was someone other than who he was when he’d arrived here, maybe she wouldn’t feel so betrayed. If he’d ever had the guts to confess the truth.
If he hadn’t kissed her…
“Do you have a suite here?” Agatha asked. “Somewhere we can speak privately?”
“Downstairs.” It wasn’t a suite—Jack had claimed the only suite in the hotel—but it was private and if he was going to be read the riot act by his aunt, he’d rather not have Jack and Ruth as witnesses.
Jude led the way to his room, silent in the elevator and as he opened the door and held it for Agatha. She swanned into the room, taking stock of her surroundings before settling into the room’s single arm chair like a queen taking her throne.
“What are you doing here, Jude?” she asked as soon as the door clicked shut behind him.
“My editor sent me out to do a story on Jack Cooper.” He came into the room and perched on the edge of the bed, grateful the maid had already been in and tidied up. “I didn’t realize until I got here that Ginny was involved—”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Jude snapped his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she meant. She’d only seen him and Ginny in the same room for about twenty seconds before Ginny bolted, but had her highly tuned gossip-radar picked up on something from him? Could Agatha tell there was something going on between them? He wasn’t even sure himself what had been going on between them and now…
“I thought, when you took this job, that it could be good for you,” Agatha went on, breaking into his thoughts. “After the disappointment with your book, you seemed to need something to bolster you up and occupy your mind. I didn’t think there could be any harm in playing around in the tabloids for a while, but now… is this who you are now? Is this what you want?”
He could have avoided the question like he’d avoided thinking about it for years, but one didn’t dodge Dame Agatha Kelly.
He’d stopped letting himself consider what he wanted. He’d been focusing on his work, on being good at the job, and somewhere along the line he’d lost his way. Lost his mojo. But could he get it back? He’d been going through the motions for a while now, wondering what the hell he was doing with his life.
It hadn’t been until last night, with Ginny, that things had felt right for a moment.
And not until he saw the way she never gave up that he’d realized how completely he had.
He swallowed, trying to explain. “It was the only dream I’d ever had and when I failed at it so completely, I didn’t know what to do.”
“You write a better book next time,” Agatha announced, blithely unsympathetic.
He snorted. “I appreciate your compassion.”
“I’m old. I don’t have time for self-pity.”
“You’re sixty-eight.”
“In Hollywood years , I might as well be a hundred and twelve. Watch, they’ll be giving me Lifetime Achievement Awards before you know it. Trying to sneak them in before I kick the bucket. But we aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you. And how you gave up.”
“I didn’t—” The denial was instinctive.
“You retreated to lick your wounds. I understand. I’ve had some shitty reviews in my life as well, difficult though that may be to believe.” She gave an arrogant little smile, as if the idea of anyone not loving her was heresy—and these days it was, but the press hadn’t always been so kind. “You got kicked in the teeth by life and that was shit—”
Jude snorted, wondering how many people in the world suspected their beloved Dame Agatha would ever allow a word like “shit” to pass her lips.
“But you have to get back up, Jude. You can’t live your life tearing other people down.”
He winced internally. “That isn’t what I’ve been doing.”
“Isn’t it?”
She didn’t pull any punches, his aunt. Which reminded him. “She said you said something to her. The day of the tape. Something unkind.”
Agatha’s gaze flicked down, the minute tightening of her lips as good as a confession.
Jude’s jaw worked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it have done any good? You’d already posted the tape at that point. I knew you’d probably been motivated by some sort of misplaced protectiveness toward me and there was no closing Pandora’s Box once it was opened, so what was the point of telling you I’d driven her to it?”
“I destroyed her life.”
Agatha gave him an arch look. “You may have ruined her year, but her life isn’t over yet as far as I can tell. But if you feel so guilty, you might try stepping up and apologizing.”
Trust his aunt to tell him to get his head out of his ass and do something rather than wallowing in self-flagellation as he’d been doing for far too long. “I want to make things right with her.”
“That sounds like an excellent place to start.”